


The Prism

by Filigranka



Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: Gen, Humor, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 10:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21160256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Only a fool blindly trusts mirrors.





	The Prism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serenade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenade/gifts).

The common wisdom says Rebma is Amber’s mirror. The conclusion Amberites draw from it – that Rebma passively reflects everything that happens in their oh-so-great Amber – is the usual self-absorbed, _royal_ delusion. One can find everything in the Shadows, except for a place without superstitions about reflections and mirrors. 

If one knows how to search, one may find the worlds where the reflections lead almost independent lives. Or the worlds where the reflections rule over their owners; their inhabitants cover their faces walking near water and close their eyes talking, to avoid being trapped by the image in others’ pupils.

Unlike her siblings, Llewella tries to avoid blind arrogance. She knows Rebma is, at best, a curved mirror. It can’t control Amber directly, put a curse on or switch places with it. What her home can do, is to influence things – mood and proportions – there. Llewella is the queen of the diplomacy, etiquette and the art of winning negotiations with the proper placement of the guests and carefully chosen paintings, dresses, jewellery. 

‘Amber is in the… state of disarray. Many oppose Eric’s rule, and not in the silence of their hearts only. It’s worrisome. I’ve just heard the most upsetting rumours of him imprisoning your sister, Deirdre. It’s… I’d not want any quarries in our family.’ Moire sighs and takes a look at Rebma’s throne room. ‘I think it’s time to change some décor. A pity. I like the current one.’

Llewella arches an eyebrow. 

‘Do we want Eric to win?’

‘At this point, we just want stability. But this, Amber never provides.’ Moire laughs bitterly. ‘Eric would make a fine king, but not with all the cliques chaining him. Not when his siblings prepare rebellion. But I surely don’t want Bleys on the throne. He’s cunning, too cunning. Knows the ways of magic and Shadows well.’ 

“Could recognise our game and turn it against us,” hears Llewella. And it’d be a disaster, to have her home tangled even tighter with Amber’s affairs and kerfuffles, and left without its only means of defence. 

‘Eric is wise to keep Deidre with him,’ admits Llewella. ‘She’d make a decent third party. The Redheads are feared and disliked by the citizens and nobles, too, but Deidre holds their hearts in her palm. She’s beloved in the allied Shadows; Corwin’s songs ensured it. I doubt Eric dared to do anything more than put her in house arrest.’ Which is still bad. House arrest of an Amber’s princess may mean the treason in Rebma’s court. ‘I’ll leave the whole wing of our castle unguarded and change the locks… Choosing the next contractor very carefully and after a proper consideration.’

The procedure will take weeks. Through all this time some of Rebma’s rooms will be left wide open. At some point, Rebma – Amber’s mirror – showing an opportunity for Deidre will create it in Amber’s castle, the one and only real castle among Shadows. Very few entities are strong enough to not believe their own reflection. 

‘We’ll do so.‘ Yet even saying this, Moire shakes her head. ‘But it’s not enough. Tides are changing. We need something… different, something _more_. Those who rely on their old tricks in the new times – die. You might not know it yet, Llewella. You’re still young.’

‘I walked the Pattern. Time flies differently in Shadows.’ This is a gentle, but firm reminder for her Queen to not treat her like a child. 

‘Things are different in Shadows, too. Perhaps they’ll bring us the answer.’ Moire’s smile seems real, for the first time. ‘I command you to go on an adventure.’

Llewella wonders sometimes if she’s the only one from the Amberites who hates the adventures. Slaying monsters, starting wars, finding treasures guarded by dragons… Treasures which one would just as well find lying in the dirt in some other Shadow.

Adventures like such seem like a waste of time to her. Perhaps if she didn’t have all the duties in Rebma, if she could, like her siblings, just spend fooling around, sure that Oberon will do the actual ruling… Perhaps then she’d have time for such trifles. 

She does not, though. So her “adventures” are short and to the point. No dragons, no demons, no lovers or kingdoms torn by wars. Wars and dragons would only distract her from her mission, keep her away from Rebma. And all these irritatingly dry Shadows are terrible for her skin.

‘So soon?’ Moire is actually pleased; she doesn’t like not having Llewella around. Her question is just an invitation to speak. 

‘The place Flora lives in is cursed with the abundance of merchants.’ 

Most of them lacked any skills in the fine art of bargaining. It was a disappointment and Llewella would normally leave that Shadow empty-handed, save for distaste on her tongue. This time, they needed something to change Amber’s situation. Flora was one of Eric long-time allies and yet she spent all her time in this remote Shadow. No matter if she had any political reason – Llewella suspected she does – after all this time Shadow-Earth had vowed itself into the picture. And into its reflection. Bringing something from there should put some subconscious pressure on Eric’s mind, at the very least. Perhaps call Flora back. Change the game, one way or another.

Moire knows it all but listens to Llewella dutiful explanation nonetheless.

‘Books, I understand.’ She lifts the one with “Shakespeare. Complete Works” written in golden letters at the cover. From what Llewella managed to read, travelling through Shadows, the author has quite a few nice lines. ‘Like songs, they’re creating stories and frames in our minds; none of us can resist the lure to model our lives on them. And it’s easy enough to put some more books in our library, let them influence Amber’s philosophies and fashions. But why… why _these_?’

She gestures to the small pile of the Shadow-Earth’s artefacts, lying disorderly on the floor. They’re, Llewella admits, mostly pretty awful. Kitschy. Blinky. Useless. These type of trinkets Amber was usually tricking inhabitants of the Shadows with. Llewella finds the idea of using them on Amberities amusing.

‘These,’ she says, picking up a pink, glittery figurine of the penguin and pushing the button at its bottom; it starts to emit the high-pitched, simple melody which makes Moire cringe, ‘are for chaos’ sake. You said so yourself. The tides are turning and we have no idea what kind of fight we’re going into. So I picked things at a flea market at random… Almost at random. I aimed for… the most curious ones. We should put them behind the throne.’ It’s the place of the greatest power; and also, conveniently, the one hidden from the view. ‘Let them influence matters in their strange, chaotic ways.’

‘If they work, they’ll wreak the havoc.’

‘When a tsunami comes, some havoc is inevitable. This way, we’d contain most of it to the aesthetically dubious objects hidden in this room.’

‘Our eye of the storm,’ muses Moire. ‘You _are_ an Amberite. Sometimes I forget about this.’

‘More like –‘ Llewella smiles brightly at the mascot of the jester lying the pile, pretty thing with the porcelain face and soft limbs; it reminded her of Dworkin and she took it, even though it was too well-made, compared with the rest of her haul. ‘ –our Joker.’


End file.
